


Closing

by ImmoralHD



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Cervical Penetration, Degradation, F/M, Rough Sex, Spit Kink, Teasing, asta has a venom tongue, basically he's cursed that whenever he's aroused, his tongue gets Large, mentions of the word "rape" sexually but it's all consensual, throatfucking, tonguefucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21828763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImmoralHD/pseuds/ImmoralHD
Summary: Ilya, the local water genasi cultist potion shop owner is a horrible, terrible tease to her assistant, Asta.When they have the shop alone together, she gets a chance to truly ruin him.---She’s been insufferable most of the day-- though there was a particular unkind moment when she brushed against him while passing him in one of the tighter aisles in the back half of the shop. There was a very deliberate way she slid against him, facing towards the shelf rather than his face, and he swears there was a subtle grind against him she played off like a stumble. Maybe it really was her being clumsy (he insists she gives up on the heels, she insists they do too much for her public image) because he’s really been in the mood. It’s been a few days since they’ve taken some private time together in the back room, and he’s been a little more tense. Ilya doesn’t care, she never does, she keeps teasing him because that’s what she does.
Relationships: OFC/OMC, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 12





	Closing

It’s closing time. It’s the very, very end of a day that’s dragged on for far too long. The light from the sun is beginning to dwindle, and the shop hadn’t seen many customers for the past hour or so. That’s how it usually is-- mornings are unbearably busy while evenings drone on for ages. Adventurers get their start early and tend to buy potions of healing in excess. It’s the afternoons that Ilyashanet enjoys the very most. More specific potions, more interesting ones. Things that sell at a premium, because she’s the best witch in town with high quality potions.

Unfortunately for Asta, the fact that it’s Ilya’s favorite time of day and visitors are fewer and far between means that she gets a little more teasing than her baseline. She’s generally a flirt throughout the day, but it’s significantly worse after lunch. She’ll peer out from the back room from behind a customer at just enough distance that she’s not in serious risk of being caught, pulling up her skirt to reveal the periwinkle of her uncovered thighs and that lovely little patch of seafoam between her legs. Sometimes she’s shoving the collar of her dress down enough to show off her chest, but only if it’s got a looser collar. Usually her dresses are too structured to yank down fast enough to flash him and cover back up before she’s done too much. 

Today has been no different than the typical schedule of teasing. She’s been insufferable most of the day-- though there was a particular unkind moment when she brushed against him while passing him in one of the tighter aisles in the back half of the shop. There was a very deliberate way she slid against him, facing towards the shelf rather than his face, and he swears there was a subtle grind against him she played off like a stumble. Maybe it really was her being clumsy (he insists she gives up on the heels, she insists they do too much for her public image) because he’s really been in the mood. It’s been a few days since they’ve taken some private time together in the back room, and he’s been a little more tense. Ilya doesn’t care, she never does, she keeps teasing him because that’s what she does.

She’s leaning against the counter by the register, looking particularly smug. Her dress is the color of daffodils today, lined with frills. It’s cute. She likes being cute. He knows, because she admitted this one night when she was ridiculously tired, and might have been doing a sacrifice relating to everlasting cuteness. But that totally could have been a lie-- Asta’s pretty sure gryphon hearts don’t make people cute. 

She watches him move from the door, notes the way his tongue is starting to find it much harder to stay within his mouth. She wonders what that feels like, if it bothers him much at this point. He’s tempted to say something, but it’s much easier to talk when his mouth isn’t trying to fit something in it that doesn’t belong. It’s an experience he decides Ilya will become familiar with very soon. Sure, he can talk, he’s had a handful of years to practice speaking around the muscle in his mouth, it’s just a bother wasting words when she’s just going to mouth off to him at the start of this anyway. He can read it in her body language-- she has that smirk on. She’s feeling smug.

“Everything okay?” It’s a familiar tone. It reminds him of when she’ll ask if Simi got his tongue or something. And when he’s finding it a little harder to keep his tongue in his mouth, she acts a little shocked. 

He sighs. “Ilya.”

“Oh, did I do something?” Of course you did. “So sorry, Asta, I forget you’ve got a particular affliction.”

“Ilyasha.” He’s still not using her full name, but she can hear the more serious tone. He’s taken a few steps closer, and she can see the little dribbles of spit that escape the corners of his mouth. He swallows hard, she watches his throat move. Ignores the way her thighs press tighter together. 

She acts like she’s deep in thought for a moment, tapping her chin. “I wonder what it could have been that I said. Do you want me to guess?”

“Ilyashanet.” He steadies his eyes on her with a more than frustrated groan. He’s used to the treatment, never really minded, but a man can only be pushed so far, and she just keeps shoving him closer and closer to the edge.

“Was it when I asked you if you could tie that thing into knots inside of me? I’m just curious, you see.” As if. It might have been that comment, it might have been another, but that doesn’t matter anymore. The idea of shoving his tongue into her cunt is too much to resist, he imagines the way she’d rock her hips and grind against his face. If he was in a better mood, he’d make a joke about the motion of the ocean.

He’s taking several more steps forward, all calm and trying to hide the tension in his posture. Rid himself of mental tangents. “You’re lucky Simitore isn’t around. Curiosity killed the cat, didn’t it?”

She gets a little quieter, whatever tease she had in mind dies on her lips and she’s lightly flushing purple. He’s very close now, and though he’s only a few inches taller than her when she’s in heels, there’s something intimidating about it. He joked, by all means that’s a good sign, but there was a completely different tone to him. A little more hoarse, a little deeper in pitch. It’d make her squirm backwards if she wasn’t out of room to move.

“Asta--”

“Morsel.”

Asta leans over her, pressing her into the counter, and she suddenly feels smaller than she really is. 

“You have been tempting me for too long. Now, I’m going to eat you whole.”

As intimidating as he is, she’s leaning forward into him. Pressing a kiss to his lips that leaves them lightly coated in spit. She tries not to look too pleased when she licks her lips. His mouth opens a little and his tongue more or less unfurls as he takes a wrist in either hand and pins them to the edge of the counter. Now she really can’t move.

He presses a leg between her thighs, forces her skirt up a little bit as she instinctively grinds down onto his thigh. So she’s needy already. He licks his lips, and a glob of saliva drips off of him and onto the sunflower color of her dress, darkening a spot on her chest. She shivers and her hips buck sharply into him. Ilya’s already lost in her brain, as she’d been imagining this all day-- what would make him finally break on her? What would do it? She wants his tongue down her throat as she grinds her wetness against the fabric of his pants with a sharp whimper. He draws her attention back up to him, and there’s a sticky, wet slither of his tongue across her cheek. 

The tapered tip of his tongue traces along her lips and she can feel herself begin to drool though she’s trying not to spill more wetness onto her dress when she obediently opens her mouth. Kissing is hard when he’s like this, but they’re used to being messy. She doesn’t mind, and he’s more than happy to indulge her in filth. 

His tongue presses into her mouth and she knows he can feel the gentle purr of satisfaction she makes as she’s pressing her tongue to the bottom of her mouth to make room for the intrusion. His spit’s starting to fill her mouth though it’s only been seconds, and she’s forced to greedily swallow. It’s better when it’s his spit, it’s better as he’s beginning to fuck her mouth with his tongue. 

Such an interesting predicament. If they’re actually going to press lips together, it involves his tongue down her throat or nearly bursting her cheeks as it writhes and curls itself up in the warmth of her mouth. The thought makes her dizzy, and she’s making a whine for more when he gives her just that. More of him pushes past her lips and her eyes do that delicious little flutter he’s quite sure means she’s absolutely gushing for him. This is only confirmed when there’s another desperate, rutting rock of her hips that’s a touch more intense than the last few. 

He’s pulling his tongue from her mouth then, letting it snake across her cheek and down to her neck, circling it. He’s leaning in closer, examining the slimy trail of spit he’s left across her skin, and the dazed, blissful look on her face. The look changes once she realizes this isn’t a brief break and she’s not going back to getting her mouth tonguefucked by her assistant. 

There’s a woeful, heartbroken whimper of “A,,Asta, please,,,” as she grinds her hips against him yet again.

“Please what, pet?” Hm. He wonders if he should have called her a slut instead. “Is someone hungry for something, whore?”

Talking takes significant effort with his tongue extended around her, so he pulls back. Pulls back enough to stare in her eyes, place a hand to grip her jaw. 

She whines softly, keens from the touch, and cries for the loss of that slickness against her skin. “M,,,More,,, I ne-ed more,,,” And with a shaking inhale, she knows she’s not being specific enough. “Sss,,spit,,,”

There’s a rumbling kind of groan. He likes it when she actually asks, though he was fully prepared to grip her harder and bruise, if need be. He does it anyway and she lets out a shrill whimper as he threatens to bruise her jaw. It’s then that he looks her in the eye, and gathers up enough saliva to spit in her mouth. 

She doesn’t take the time to ask for permission to swallow, and the moan she lets out, unabashed, makes him throb. It’s so, so much better when she’s not hiding her pitiful, pathetic whimpers.

“You tease me, get me worked up, and have the nerve to ask me for more?” He did just indulge her, but-- Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. “I’m the hungry one, and you’re going to let me take exactly what I want, are we understood?” 

She’s already mumbling “yes, I understand, please, take me” on a hushed loop before he’s finished speaking. Frantically, panicked in the way she’s trying to force her words out. It’s like she can’t speak fast enough, so she ends up nodding her head. It’s sort of nullified by the grip he has on her, but he gets the sentiment. 

He’s trying to play the dom role, though, so he’ll smile about her obedience later. He notes that her free hand hasn’t even left where he had placed it on the countertop. So submissive. She’ll need that grip in a few seconds when he’s dipping beneath her skirt.

There isn’t that much of a warning for her to pick up on as he settles onto his knees in front of her-- he’s not sure if it would have been easier or harder in the long run to get her up on the counter, but there’s a strong possibility she would’ve protested that. So this works, this is good enough, she’s already whimpering and he hasn’t even touched her. There’s a soft mumble of “hold your dress” as he presses a kiss to her thigh before beginning to pry her legs open. Ilya can lean on the counter, she’ll do just fine if she finds her knees weak all of a sudden.

One of her hands, shaking just the slightest bit, ball up the soft material of her dress and hike it up. The balled fist, now full of fabric, rests once again on the spot where he had placed it. Maybe, just maybe, she adores of him having that much control over her. So she’s making it happen, and shifting her weight to the back of her feet as he starts to wedge her thighs from each other. She’s warm-- particularly warm, and the fact that she’s not wearing panties means he can see the little turbulent waves that sit just above her slit. Her hair’s matching it in anxious, tense waves that rock with uncertainty. She’s pretty sure he’s going to move one of her legs over his shoulder at some point and mentally dreads and cheers for the way he’ll enter her that much deeper. She’s getting ahead of herself. He’s only now just starting to slicken the outside of her cunt with his spit, sliding the length of it over her in its entirety before licking back down. Her fingers start to tremble, and he can’t help but smirk. She’s easy when it comes to things like this. He has half a mind to tease her about being so easy, but it’s hard when he’s more focused on the way she’s dripping for him. 

Slickness was already building before his spit came into the mix, but now there’s glossy wetness that coats the inside of her thighs. She’s just a wet girl, by all means. Produces more tears, more drool, more juices than anyone else she’s been, and honestly? The way she’s so eager to become a mess for him means the world. Her hands are starting to twitch on the counter and he can feel she’s so close to breaking-- shoving her fingers in his hair or actually saying something instead of relying so completely on the moans and whimpers that just pour from her mouth into his ears. 

Just a little bit more, he thinks, and he slides just the very tip of his tongue inside her. It parts her lips and he feels her whole body shudder. Her hips roll, expectant to feel more of him fill her up, but he’s careful. She gets just enough to keep her parted for him, she gets just enough for him to taste each time she gushes around around his tongue. Fluid is collecting, and with each rock of her very entitled hips, she’s a step closer to maybe, just maybe drawing herself out of a lustful haze long enough to realize he’s not giving her what she really wants.

He makes a rumbling groan against her and it’s like she chitters in delight. The whimpers go shrill and she purrs like a kitten, thankful for the slightest bit of vibration. That doesn’t catch her attention, but the wet smack of a glob of wasted spit hitting the ground makes her notice what she isn’t getting. That should be inside her. 

“Ah,,Asta,,,” Another needy jerk of her hips. “Asta, please,,,”

“‘Everything okay,?’” And around his tongue, he decides to rub it in. “‘Oh, did I do something?’”

He uses her own words against him, and the purple flush of anger and arousal that paints her cheeks makes him grin in delight. She makes this helpless, indignant, strained sound, head falling backwards. “Asta.” 

It’s more uppity than he likes. One of the hands on her thighs digs nails in enough to make her squirm and wince away. “Do we want to be more polite, my prissy little princess? I don’t like your tone,” and he starts to pull the tip of his tongue out.

She cries out, “ASTA-- Asta, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, don’t-- Don’t,,, pull out, please, I’m so sorry--” and she’s cut off by him roughly shoving several more inches of his spit-soaked tongue as far into her cunt as he can until that stuttering, trailing moan turns into a wail. He’s not fully inside her, but now when she carelessly rocks her hips, there’s something truly filling inside of her.

“Bh’tr. Better,” he says, as much as he can manage it.

Her balled fist, full of her dress, smacks against the counter with a thump. She’s moaning louder, and he’s starting to catch her drift. He’s able to keep a pace she likes, darting his tongue in quick, schlicking little thrusts, and he swears he can feel her unraveling, but he’s nowhere near done. He’s got a womb to worm his way into, a womb to fill with his saliva, and he’s going to force her to the edge just to strand her. But first, to get her close. Rumbling groans, the wet, sloppy sound she’s making from all her wetness mixing with his saliva. He can’t wait to fuck the taste of their mixed fluids down her throat with his tongue when this is all over.

“Th-ank you,,, Th,,thaaAH-- Thank you, Asta, Th,,ankkk-you for using me, thank you for taking what you want, I’m s,,so sorry for,,, for teasing, I’m sorry, Asta, fuck.” She’s starting to talk a little more in those mushed, rushed syllables that mean she’s growing closer and closer to the edge. She’s apologizing to him and thanking him for using him and fuck, he wishes he could afford to sneak his hand down to grind against his palm, but he needs to keep her spread. Needs to feel her start to tighten around him so he can pull back. Deny her. Like she’d been doing to him all day. 

“Asta, please, I’m so close, fuck,” is his signal to pull abruptly away. Ilya’s using that deeper tone, the raw one that means she’s dangerously close and she’s bordering on these throaty, groaning moans that fill up the whole shop. The air is thick with lust and sound, and suddenly--

She’s empty and he’s wiping slickness from his mouth, looking up at her casually. Well, there’s maybe a bit of a smirk.

Ilya looks like she’s going to scream.

She doesn’t, but she really fucking wants to. Instead it’s this strangled sound of sorrow and her head falls forward. She can’t bring herself to look into his eyes. Not when she knows she’s smeared all up and down his lips and chin, and he’s smiling, and she wants his tongue wriggling inside of her cunt, and fuck you, fuck, fuck, fuck, she was so close. And he wants to tease her?

Wow. She feels like an idiot now. The scream is vented into another groan that’s a pitiful excuse for a growl. She gets it, all at once, and that’s when her self control is shattered. Her hand full of skirt thunks against the counter again and she moves her free hand into his hair and drags him back towards her wetness.

He, of course, jerks his head away. Tsk tsk. “Poor manners, princess. You should know better than to get pushy with me.”

She starts reeling, the shock evident in her eyes. She yanks her hand away from his hair like he’s made of fire and she just evaporated her hand. Horror fills her expression. Had she really gotten that forward? Teasing is fine when they’re not fucking, she’s his boss after all, but this dynamic is different. She’s his pet. His plaything, and “that was so inappropriate, I-- A,,Asta,,, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” and she’s backpedaling. 

“I wonder what it could have been that I said. Normally you wouldn’t grab at me like a desperate little whore. You’re so fucking desperate, you know that? Needy little bitch.” There’s another lick of his lips, another splattering of spit that pools on the floor. Her eyes are drawn to the puddle of saliva and she twitches in sadness. Inside. It should have been inside her.

She starts scrambling to talk, but it’s so hard when he’s being filthy with her. Scrambling for words, she’s interrupted before she can force something out. Perhaps it’s for the better. “I-”

“Do you want me to guess? Hm?” His voice is derisive, spitting back her words, though they’re coated in venom that burns through her skin. “Do you want me to guess what’s got you acting like a horny, pathetic alley whore?”

She’s reeling, she just wanted to cum that’s all she wanted, but now she needs to keep hearing him talk. Her threaten to squeeze together again as she rocks her hips, needing that little bit of stimulation. With a gravelly growl, he’s forcing her legs apart. His tongue presses against her slit again, slathering it in spit. She calms just slightly, thankful for the lightest touch. His eyes dart to her lips for a moment and they’re glossed in spit. He shakes his head, regards her with a cruel kind of sneer. She looks like she has hearts in her eyes. 

“Is that better, slut? You just need me, don’t you?” He pauses for a half second, and steamrolls whatever she might have said. It’s completely disregarded. “I think that’s why you tease me. You need my cock, you want my tongue, you want me to fucking use you like the toy you are. But you’re too proud to admit it.”

She shivers again, he can feel the way that she gets chills under his hands. “Maybe,,,” is what she manages, though it’s soft and under her breath. It’s a whisper more than anything, drowned out by the other whimpers and whines. She’s so quiet today. Can’t help it when he’s overwhelming her poor little brain.

He’ll just have to refocus her. “So go on, admit it. I want to hear you say it.”

“Asta, I can’t--”

“Can. You’ve played enough games today. You want to cum, Ilya? Is that what you want? Fucking beg for it, then. Use your fucking words.”

The problem for Ilya, however, is that words often fail. 

So there’s a brief bout of a sputtering, stuttering nothingness that forces its way from her vocal chords. He claws into her with his nails again, though, and suddenly she’s singing a different tune.

“Fff,,faah,, Fine, fine, okay? I,, need you, Asta, I need to cum, and I need you to be the one who forces me over the edge,,,” Not enough. “I’m a bratty little cocktease because I spend,,, every afternoon,,, ju,,st,,, waiting and hoping I’ll figure out what’ll break you. What will finally make you break,” what will finally make you rape me “and may, maybe I went a little far today,, a-and,, and I’m sorry, and I need you and--” she’s rocking her hips again. She should probably mention that she wants him to rape her sometime, because fuck, she’s gushing again, and if he’s paying attention, he can watch her wetness start to dribble down her thigh. 

He gives her a moment of consideration, evaluating the outburst, but she won’t shut up in the background. She sounds like a broken record, all these pitiful whimpers and whines and “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please fuck me, Sir, I’m so sorry--” oh hold on. That’s new.

“Fuck me, S,,Sir, please, I ne--EED--” she’s wailing again as he forces his tongue back inside her with one quick motion. Perhaps it’s the tone she was using, but what’s really done it is her respect. Sir. He’s in control. He’s in control, and he’s going to rape her womb with his tongue.

His tongue is already bumping against her cervix and she’s writhing against the counter, hands gripping and pounding at things because she wants to ball her hands up in sheets or in his hair and she just can’t. She’s stranded without a life preserver, and she hates just how close she’s already getting. She blames it on the way he edged her, but deep down, she knows it’s because “I’m a desperate little slut for you,,, I’m such a filthy, depraved bitch in heat,,”

She really is. She’s rutting against his face, and he’s enjoying every last second of her reckless lust. She’ll straighten her skirt and calm the waves in her hair soon enough, act all proper, but this is the moment he takes a mental snapshot of. Her, rolling and rocking her hips, as spit drips down her chin like the mindless little girl she is, proclaiming just what kind of object she is. Fuck, he needs to fill her. His tongue will have to do for now. 

She lets out another almost guttural moan, clenching around the thing filling in for his hard cock. “Ah,,Asta,,, I need it, I need it, g,,gimme,, I need-- MORE,,,” 

It’s the last nudge he needs as he hefts her leg over his shoulder, messily pressing himself further into her. There’s resistance, real resistance, but she cries for more and in that moment understands that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her, he has to shove himself further in, he needs to fill her, he needs to make her cum. He pushes the tip of his tongue into her painfully tight womb. He’s where no one’s been before, and she howls in a way he’s never, ever heard her cry. Tears go straight from prickling at her eyes to spilling over and coating her cheeks, she’s sobbing. The way that she’s grinding into him is frantic and helpless and she’s so completely lost, she’s slurring words. She’s trying so hard to speak, but her body betrays her.

She actually does scream, and somewhere in this whiteout of arousal, she’s screaming that she’s cumming, and he’s undulating that perfect fucking tongue, and licking every inch of her insides with this pleased, possessive growl that makes more tears drip down her face and onto her thoroughly soaked collar. Sobs wrack her body, she’s not supposed to be fucked there, but the pain that blinds her makes her certain that this is what she needs more than anything. His cum is supposed to fill her womb, but she’s shivering and jerking her hips and weeping as he drools directly into her womb. It’s too hot, it’s too much, she’s over-sensitive and desperate all at the same time, and it’s not until he withdraws his tongue and helps her steady her shaking, quivering legs that she stops moaning those shrill, needy whines so loudly.

She’s terribly unsteady, he pulls her close to him. She could tackle him if she tried, but having something to lean against that doesn’t cut into the squishiness of her back is soothing. The waves in her hair begin to calm, and she’s making those chittering purrs again. It reminds him of Sitimore, but his erection prevents him from exploring that connection more-- that’s weird shit. And he’s got a tongue coated in cum and spit for her to slurp up. 

When he’s stroked her cheek and her hair enough for her to be coherent, there’s a simple command. 

“Open wide, kitten.” 

She does. Of course she does, and she makes a goddamned mess of herself.

He smiles fully now, god she’s perfect, and lets his tongue slither into her mouth. She moans like she’s being fucked. He grinds against her as she begins to take his tongue in her mouth, sucking and slurping with these messy, sloppy sounds as she cleans him up. There are whimpers and moans and she’s probably trying to say thank you but her mouth is more than stuffed. He pushes his head down, closer to her, and relishes in the way she gags around his tongue as it presses against the back of her throat. He’d call her a good girl if he wasn’t so transfixed by the way her eyes are fluttering up and back into her skull. His precious little whore is in heaven. 

His perfect angel is where she belongs.

He loves the way spit and fluids leak from her mouth with each choke because she can’t take it all, as much as she’s swallowing and gagging around his tongue. He fucks it gently into her, and her hips are starting to rock again. What a good girl. They’re a mess, pressed together, and now all the spit and slick is darkening the fabric of his shirt. 

He decides she’s had enough and pulls it out with another wet schlick and a pop as he leaves her needy mouth. She’s swallowing whatever she had in her mouth, and her hands clumsily reach for her mouth and her chin, scraping the stickiness back into her mouth and suckling on her fingers in an attempt to clean them. It makes more of a mess.

Drooling, doll-like crybaby.

She looks like she’s in a fog, and from behind her fingers, he hears a gentle, breathy moan of “more”. He licks his lips like a fucking animal. Of course she wants more. And she’s so warmed up and slick for him…

Again, softly, “n,,ne-eed,,, more,,,, I need,,, my womb,, I ne-eed,,” 

He kisses her like he loves her, because he does, and takes her hands from her mouth. Ilya’s more or less among the living again, so she does have the consciousness to help him when he’s using her wrists to try to turn her around. 

Then he’s finally, finally able to free his cock from his pants. The ones thoroughly stained with precum, the ones he had been straining against for the better part of the day. He forces his fingers into her mouth to slick his cock for the fun of it. He knows damn well she’s slick enough to take him just like he is. But there’s something so satisfying about the way she’ll grease his fingers with her spit and gag on them like it’s her job without a second thought. She’s perfect.

He’s perfect. She loves him. With every ounce of her blackened heart, she loves him. She’d tell him, too, but she’s so lost in lustful fog and the pain of her abused womb that she’s having a very hard time just speaking.

But when he pushes his cock into her and she gives a wailing, delirious cry, he knows what she means.


End file.
